


All That Glitters (is only fool's gold)

by theauthorish



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Escort Service, M/M, the others might still appear! they're in this au too just not in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: Yeosang couldn't help but find it endearing. He smiled gently. "It was very kind of you and your friend, what you did.""Ah, it was only common decency, wasn't it?" said the man, straightening his posture and flashing a smile of his own."You'd be surprised how uncommon it is, for us." Yeosang shrugged. "Pan and I," he said, glancing back at Hongjoong so the man would know who he meant, "may not have been the recipients of your help, but we felt touched by it all the same." He paused, turning back to face the man once more. "You can call me Snow, by the way."////Or, how Yeosang, a somewhat jaded escort, falls in love with the sweetest client he's ever had.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 25
Kudos: 74





	1. Snow

**Author's Note:**

> So! I've been sitting on this for a while, and finally typed up the last paragraph needed to make it a reasonable cut off point. I won't make any promises about the updates, but the next bit will... probably be smut, so.

Everyone was staring, and all Yeosang wanted was to hide.

He'd known this would happen; it was his job, after all. To be looked at. To be desired. To let them take him again and again and again and--

"Yeosang-ah. Here." Yeosang turned to find Hongjoong holding out a delicate wine glass, filled with… something.

Yeosang raised a brow and made no move to take it. "What is it?" He wasn't really suspicious (mostly). He just liked teasing Hongjoong. It was just a thing they did; Hongjoong took care of them and complained he was too old to have kids, Yeosang pretended to rebel and be reluctant, and at the end of the day, they reminded each other to let their guards down when the clients were gone.

"Don't be a baby," Hongjoong said with a roll of his eyes. "That's Mingi's job. Just drink it."

"No way. You might be trying to poison me with some homemade cocktail. Again." Yeosang shuddered just thinking about it. It had taken him hours to get the taste out of his mouth.

Hongjoong had the _ gall _ to look offended. Hurt even, pouting his lips like Yeosang hadn't said only the truth. "It wasn't that bad!"

"How would you know? You didn't even try it!" Yeosang sniped back, with no real bite. "It was very pretty, I'll admit, but cocktails are meant for _ drinking _, hyung. Not just being pretty. Stick to inedible art."

"You--" Yeosang only quirked his brow higher. Let Hongjoong try to refute him. He wouldn't succeed-- they all knew he had done it all visually, probably didn't even know what ingredients he'd tossed in except by the color. "Fine," Hongjoong huffed. "If you _ must _ know, it's sparkling water. Figured you could use it." He paused, glancing out into the slowly growing crowd. Yeosang could tell he was barely holding back a grimace, his jaw tight, hands twisted behind his back. An outsider would simply see it as idle posing, but Yeosang knew better. They were all good at projecting, but that was all it was. No one could truly enjoy the life they had, no matter how opulent.

"We all could, really. We'll be busy tonight," Hongjoong finished. Yeosang didn't nod or otherwise agree, but he did accept the glass and take a delicate sip from it.

"When do we start mingling, again?" He asked, taking one more sip from the glass before handing it back to Hongjoong, who had, predictably, forgotten to get a drink for himself.

Hongjoong only shrugged. "The Madame didn't tell us. You know how she is."

Yeosang sighed. The Madame (they didn't know her real name) was a good boss, for the most part. She took good care of them, and was strict with the clients giving her employees basic respect, but she wasn't the most forthcoming with information unless she thought it was necessary. "You look good tonight," he said instead. "You made it yourself, right?"

"I did! You really think so?" That got Hongjoong to grin, eyes twinkling as he did a little spin to show off the jumpsuit he was in. It was plain white, with a sleek blazer-style top and slacks cinched high up on his waist to make his legs look longer. The deep V of the neckline showed off his collarbones and the simple gold chain choker he'd chosen today, but the best part, Yeosang thought, were the sleeves. From the side, they looked almost like a cape, but when Hongjoong moved, the sleeves slid off to reveal his arm in full: milky skin and dainty hands and shifting muscle. It was clever, really. A sleeve that wasn't really a sleeve at all.

Yeosang nodded, smiling. "You did a good job. I kind of want my own, you know?"

"I'll make you one! You'd look so dashing in a deeper color," Hongjoong promised, still flushed bright from the praise and elated just by thinking about his passion. "But you know, that gown looks pretty great on you too. I kinda wanna make you one of those instead."

Yeosang grimaced. "Please don't. Everyone's staring at me because I'm in this," he complained, smoothing down his skirt, and trying his best to look absentminded rather than nervous like he really was. It didn't do well to look nervous-- it always attracted the worst clients.

"They stare at you anyway," Hongjoong replied, but his smile was gentle and reassuring. "You're gorgeous, Yeosangie. Of course they do."

Yeosang punched him. Lightly. Mostly.

He also hid his face in his hands. "Shut up," he muttered. He was grateful, at least, that the Madame hadn't forced him into anything flashier than a simple black velvet off-shoulder, no gewgaws or sparkly bells. It was pretty soft, actually, comfortable despite the way it clung to his skin. The only issue was the high slit on his leg...

And everything underneath it, too, but even thinking about that made his face heat up, so he was doing his best to ignore it.

Hongjoong laughed. "You're so shy, Yeosang-ah, how do you ever fool the clients into thinking you're smug and spoiled all the time?"

"No idea either."

There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to find one of the staff members, a sweet girl he knew only by face and not by name. "Wait until after the Madame makes her welcome speech in two minutes," she said, "and then you can all work the floor." With one last smile, she turned and vanished back into the crowd, back into invisibility.

Yeosang would never understand how she (and all the rest of the staff) could melt away so perfectly. He wished he could do the same.

"Ah, I know that look."

"Christ, Mingi! Don't scare me like that, huh?" Yeosang shoved at him, snorting quietly when he almost toppled over. For someone so broad and tall, Mingi was… not the strongest. Physically, anyway.

"Where have you been? Sleeping again?" Hongjoong followed up, crossing his arms over his chest like he was about to launch into a lecture. He probably was.

Mingi had the grace to look sheepish, at least. "Napping. Just a bit," he admitted, scratching behind his ear like he did when he was embarrassed. "BUT! But-- I didn't mess up my suit or makeup at all, Hongjoong-hyung! So you don't need to lecture me!"

"I think I do, Mingi-yah, it's not just about your appearance, you know! You have to be alert and you have to be on time to the event and-- you have to have all your wits about you in this line of work! What if--"

"Hyung," Yeosang cut in, voice purposely lowered. "You're getting worked up. Calm down, okay?"

Hongjoong sighed heavily, but he settled for punching Mingi in the gut rather than continuing his rant. Yeosang only rolled his eyes. This was pretty typical of them. Even the part where Mingi was, predictably, whining and making puppy eyes at Hongjoong as he tried to guilt him.

"Guys."

"What?"

Yeosang jerked his head towards the stage, where the Madame had already gotten up to the podium, and was adjusting the mic. "It's starting."

/////

As soon as the welcome speech and polite applause had finished, the escorts began to disperse. Mingi shot them one last grin, raked his fingers through his hair, and let his expression draw shut, leaving only the cool, dominating persona he was most known for.

That left Hongjoong and Yeosang. Hongjoong smiled, holding out an arm. "Shall we?"

Yeosang shrugged. "I guess," he said, taking a deep breath and slipping his hand into the crook of Hongjoong's elbow.

"I like your makeup today," Hongjoong said quietly. "The shadow really brings out your eyes. It's a shame you covered up your birthmark."

Yeosang wrinkled his nose. "Clients don't like blemishes."

"It's not a blemish. It makes you unique."

"Right." Yeosang shook his head, but didn't bother to argue further. He tugged gently to the left, and Hongjoong went along easily as they skirted the edge of the room. "And what about you, hyung? Black lipstick is pretty bold of you. And one that sparkles, no less."

Hongjoong chuckled. "What did you expect? I may not like my job, but I _ do _ love to preen." He nodded his head gently, cueing Yeosang to look. "What about those two? By the decorative piano."

The men he was referring to were younger than most of their regulars-- actually, Yeosang guessed they were around the same age as he and Hongjoong themselves. Dressed smartly in what were clearly designer labels, they didn't have the same gaudy pretentiousness as some of the other guests they'd seen so far. So that was a good sign. But still. He wanted to observe a little longer (not that it could be _ that _ much longer, they were working, after all.) "You do know the piano actually works, right?"

"Has anyone ever used it though?"

"Fair p-- _ oh _." Yeosang moved to help one of the servers, tripped up by one of the more unpleasant of their clients (the slimy, snobbish kind that found bullying to be their favorite pastime), but one of the men they'd been eyeing was already there, bent to offer the server a hand. Once he'd helped her up, he kept going, carefully using one foot to sweep the broken glass into a small pile, uncaring for the cost of his fancy leather shoes and the fact that they'd almost certainly be scuffed by the sharp edges.

The server seemed too flustered to protest, and honestly, Yeosang was too. Hongjoong appeared much the same, watching with wide eyes and a raised brow. "The other one is giving the _ esteemed guest _ a lecture," he mumbled, just loud enough for Yeosang to hear.

"Oh?" Yeosang shifted his gaze, and indeed, the other young man had fixed the bully with a stern, unamused glare. He was saying something, but his voice was too low to hear from this distance. Perfectly civil, but clearly displeased. "They seem… kind," he said, unable to completely strip his tone of surprise.

"I guess that settles it, then?" Hongjoong asked.

"Yes, I think so."

"I'll let you take that one. I'll see you later." With that, Hongjoong was gone.

Yeosang sucked in a deep breath for strength, and then went towards his own client, straightening his shoulders and letting his hips sway as he went. He didn't even glance at the heads that turned as he passed; aloof, completely aware of his beauty… that was his mask, even if it was the opposite of what he really was inside. "Hello," he said, as soon as he was close enough.

The man startled, freezing in the act of idly tapping at the edges of the glass pile he'd gathered with his shoe. "Hello," he said a beat later. His eyes quickly found the brooch on Yeosang's dress, the one they all wore to signal their status as escorts. He flushed red.

Yeosang couldn't help but find it endearing. He smiled gently. "It was very kind of you and your friend, what you did."

"Ah, it was only common decency, wasn't it?" said the man, straightening his posture and flashing a smile of his own.

"You'd be surprised how uncommon it is, for us." Yeosang shrugged. "Pan and I," he said, glancing back at Hongjoong so the man would know who he meant, "may not have been the recipients of your help, but we felt touched by it all the same." He paused, turning back to face the man once more. "You can call me Snow, by the way."

The man took Yeosang's offered hand, but he did not shake it like this was some arbitrary business dealing, or clasp it in both his own like he was trying to ensnare Yeosang-- the two most common responses. Instead, he took a half-step back and bowed over it, lifting it up to his mouth. He stopped just short of actually touching his lips to it. "May I?" he asked.

He _ asked. _ For something so small. Surely he knew that he only needed consent for the big things, for touching what was not offered first. And Yeosang had proffered his hand up so readily.

Yeosang knew his smile must have been soft when he nodded. "Yes, you may--" he paused, quirking up a brow. "But only if you will give me your name first."

The man giggled high and sweet, and maybe a tad too loud, but Yeosang found it rather adorable. "Ah, where are my manners? I'm Jung Wooyoung." He grinned, and then brushed his lips over Yeosang's knuckles, the barest ghost of a touch, not dropping his gaze from Yeosang's. It almost made Yeosang blush. "It's nice to meet you, Snow."

"Likewise."

Wooyoung straightened up, the grin still bright on his lips. "I'm sure you must hear this all the time, but you really are beautiful," he said, sounding almost sheepish about it.

Yeosang allowed himself a small, bemused chuckle. "So I've been told." He brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face, tilting his head up just slightly to look down at Wooyoung. "But coming from you, I think I could stand to hear it a little more."

"I'd be more than happy to say it as many times as you'd like. In as many _ ways _as you'd like," Wooyoung replied, with a smile layered in all sorts of promises-- painted on dark and smooth like the lipstick Yeosang wore. It almost made him break character; almost sent a shiver down his spine with something like want.

Not quite, but almost.

Wooyoung was clearly kind, and that was why Yeosang had approached him, but there was no denying that he was also…

Really handsome, too. And he was so sweet, Yeosang wanted to know if he was sweet in other ways, or if the sounds he made were just as melodic as the way he spoke--

But speaking of sweet… "Would it be all right for me to ask you something?"

Wooyoung's expression softened again, all the slyness washed right out like it had never been there at all."Of course," he said, without a moment's hesitation. And oh, Yeosang rarely ever felt desire, but to feel so endeared, so curious about a client? That was rarer still.

"Why _ did _ you help that server? I know you said it was common decency, but--" He gestured vaguely with one hand at the party around them: the overdressed, over-perfumed guests and the ridiculously tiny hors d'oeuvres that did nothing for the appetite and everything in between. "No one else ever feels the need to do it. Even the ones that feel bad, they just look away, pretend not to have seen. No one would have faulted you for doing the same." _ And _ , he didn't add, though he wanted to, _ you even went through the trouble of making the clean-up easier _.

Wooyoung only blinked at him confusedly. "That's not really important though. Good is _ good _ because you do it even when no one cares, right?" He paused. "Besides, I've been there before. Admittedly not for all that long before Seonghwa-hyung and his family took me in, but… yeah." He shrugged. "I know what it's like on the other side, too. If I can help them even just a bit, why not?"

_ Admittedly not for all that long before Seonghwa-hyung and his family took me in _, he'd said. It was a simple sentence, but it held a whole wealth of information:

Firstly, it told the name of his friend, the one with Hongjoong right now. Seonghwa… it sounded familiar, though Yeosang couldn't quite place where he might have heard it. In any case, it was a good thing to know, just in case.

Secondly, it told him that something had happened either to (or between) Wooyoung and his family. It could be that Wooyoung had been orphaned. Or maybe it was that Wooyoung's family had simply found something about their son that they thought unforgivable enough to disown him. Yeosang didn't know. There were probably a whole host of other possibilities. But whatever the case, Wooyoung was no longer part of whatever home he'd been born into.

Thirdly, it told him that Wooyoung had not been born into hardship-- because to know what it was like to be in a server's position, he couldn't have been taken in too early in his life. And if he hadn't needed to do that for long…

"You really are kind at heart, aren't you?" breathed Yeosang, genuinely impressed. "And so honest, too."

Wooyoung snorted quietly. "Nah, not really. It's just that more than maybe… three quarters…? Three quarters of the people in this room are insensitive pricks."

Yeosang had to bite his lip at that just to prevent himself from breaking out into laughter. "I really _ should _argue with that," he mumbled, raising a hand to hide his grin.

"You can't though," sang Wooyoung, smug.

"No, I can't," Yeosang agreed.

Around them, the other clients were gawking-- trying to be discreet, their eyes flicking there and then away, their voices low murmurs, as if that would make it less obvious. It didn't. Yeosang could feel every heavy look, every wanting stare.

He didn't like it, but such was the life he chose. They were waiting. Would this man be taken by Snow? Or would he be uninterested, and leave Snow to be picked up by some other client, someone that must surely be them?

Yeosang certainly hoped the first would be true. He didn't think the others would be so thoughtful of him.

As if in answer to his silent plea to the universe, Wooyoung cleared his throat nervously, averting his eyes from Yeosang's. He said, "Would it be too forward of me to ask if we could go somewhere private? I know it'll cost, but--"

"That _ is _ what I am here for," Yeosang cut in, smiling to soften the blow of his interruption. Their hands were still clasped, he realized. Loose, completely unrestraining-- enough so that he hadn't felt uncomfortable enough to draw his back throughout their whole conversation. He used that to his advantage now, guiding Wooyoung towards the spiralling staircase. "There are rooms upstairs. Let me take you to mine," he murmured.

/////

The room the Madame had chosen for Yeosang-- or for Snow, really-- was lavish, in an understated way.

The carpet was plush underneath their feet. The four-poster bed was carved from some kind of imported ebony and the sheets that covered it were creamy white silk. The mattress itself was soft enough to sink into, and wide enough for anything a client might want to do, too.

The vanity against one wall was made to match the bed, carved of the same rich wood and set with stones here and there that surely cost more than anything Yeosang had ever owned in his life, though they were small, subtle touches; just enough to be seen, if one cared enough to look. Set neatly on its surface were various pots and tubes of cosmetics-- all of Snow's favorites, of course, with fancy foreign brand names that Yeosang had had to learn to untwist on his tongue before he spoke them; these too, cost more than Yeosang could ever think to justify.

Everything that _ was _ present spoke of money, of luxury… but aside from that and the doorway to the bathroom, there was nothing else.

Not like Pan's room, any empty surface scattered with glittering jewelry like a magpie's nest, its crowning glory the crystal chandelier that dangled at its center. Not like Silver's room, with its gilded bed frame and its smooth marble tiles and its bottles on bottles of wine and champagne and whiskey lined up on glass shelves.

It was simple, almost utilitarian. It was familiar.

Not nearly as familiar were the nerves churning in Yeosang's stomach. He had long since taught himself to separate himself from his work. To let his persona speak for itself and run the show.

But this felt different, somehow. Yeosang couldn't place his finger on why, though, and to buy himself time, he pulled out the seat at the vanity and began to pluck out a handful of products. He moved slow, deliberate-- it would do no good to show that he was anxious, no matter how kind Wooyoung might be.

He _ had _ had kind clients before. Men that thanked him for his time with gifts and praise. Women that offered sweet advice and contacts should he need or want to use them (he never did, but he appreciated it all the same). He had had clients that had taken the time afterwards to help clean him off, that had affirmed and reaffirmed that he was all right at the end of everything.

So what set Wooyoung apart? Was it his openness? His willingness to trust?

Or maybe--

"Is this your room?"

Yeosang blinked, pausing his actions to shoot Wooyoung a puzzled glance through the mirror. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did," Wooyoung said. "But I meant… do you stay here when you aren't working? Do you live here?"

The question was so unprecedented that Yeosang was shocked into answering honestly. "I don't. None of us do." Not even the Madame did, though he kept that part to himself. She was secretive for her own reasons, and he wouldn't betray her trust could he help it.

"So this is exclusively for... business?"

"For the most part, yes." Yeosang reached for the mascara first. He hadn't put any earlier that day, figuring it would be wasted in the end-- more often than not, he got at least a few clients who seemed set on seeing him cry, and the tear tracks would just be a pain to wipe off.

But now, he thought he might rather like to see them. Like evidence, if nothing else. Evidence of what… well, Yeosang would learn that soon enough.

He could hear Wooyoung shifting behind him, just barely. "Mostly?"

It took Yeosang a moment to swipe the product over his lashes before he could reply. "Sometimes we come here when we need to recover from something or focus on something personal," he said, leaning close to the mirror to check his work. Satisfied, he put the mascara tube back in its place, and moved on to the lip tint.

Wooyoung made a sound of understanding, and there was the soft thump of something-- his shoes, perhaps?-- against the floor. "Does it help? Being here?"

Yeosang shrugged, parting his lips and painting them in another layer of shiny red, bright and tempting. "It's better than being back at the main complex. Too many people coming and going. Too many cl--" He cut himself off. This was business, yes, but it wasn't meant to _ feel _ like it. Not for the clients. "-- _ guests _ looking for you."

"You can say clients," Wooyoung said then. "I know this is just work to you. I don't mind."

"I'm sorry, I didn't--"

"No, I mean it. It doesn't kill the mood or anything, Snow. It's what you do. If being reminded of the fact I was paying for it ruined it for me I wouldn't be here."

Yeosang turned at that, and Wooyoung was looking right at him, his expression completely serious.

"I don't fool myself into thinking this is anything other than what it is. And even if I did, it shouldn't be on you to, like… maintain that delusion," Wooyoung continued. "The people that think that way… they've never lived life, they had it handed to them. They had everything they wanted as soon as they thought about it. Every whim--" he snapped his fingers-- "realized, just like that. I didn't. Not for a long while. First because I had no choice. And later because I owed it to other people to work hard and work smart, you know?"

Yeosang stared.

"_ Ah! _ I'm sorry, I always do that. Talk, I mean. A lot. You can just tell me to shut up, like-- wait, why are you laughing?"

He was pouting now, though he didn't seem truly upset. "Sorry, sorry," Yeosang said, twisting back around in a feeble attempt to hide his grin.

"No you aren't. I can still see your shoulders shaking!" retorted Wooyoung, his voice going high with his own amusement. It was a bit of a relief. Yeosang could have been in serious trouble otherwise. "What is it? What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" Yeosang denied again, setting the lipstick back where it belonged. He reached for the concealer last-- he must have accidentally rubbed some of his off when scratching or something, because he could see a hint of his birthmark peeking out at the corner of his eye. That would need to be fixed.

"Wh-- that's obviously a lie!"

Yeosang waved a hand, as if he could wipe away the issue. It wasn't a particularly attractive motion-- it lacked the carefully cultivated grace he was supposed to have while working, but by the time he realized it, it was too late. There was something about Wooyoung being honest, maybe, that made Yeosang more honest; even if it was just subconscious. "It's not even funny, really! I promise, nothing was funny to me."

“Then what?”

“Oh my god,” Yeosang muttered, laughter in his voice, though it was too low for Wooyoung to hear (he hoped). Louder, he said, “I just thought you were cute, okay? I wasn’t about to judge you for having opinions like any human being with a functioning brain, I have no idea what you were nervous about.” That, and no one he’d met in this line of work had ever said anything close to what Wooyoung had, not unless they were workers too. At the end of the day, even the nicest clients still wanted the fantasy-- that was what they sold. Pleasure and pretense, so others could be a little less lonely, imagine themselves a little more loved, a little more interesting.

But saying that was _ definitely _ going to kill the mood.

“You were staring!” Wooyoung protested then, and Yeosang glanced at him in the glass of the mirror, watched a flush rise over his cheeks pretty and pink. “Do you know how unimpressed you look when you just stare flatly like that?”

Yeosang’s lips quirked at the corner. He didn’t answer.

“Yah! That’s mean.” Wooyoung settled back against the pillows, fiddling with the top button of his shirt like he couldn’t decide whether to pull it open or not. His jacket was already hung on one of the bedposts, the sleek fabric looking like oil in the dim light of the only lamps Yeosang had bothered to switch on.

Yeosang didn’t snort, but it was a close thing. “Whatever you say,” he replied instead.

Wooyoung must have composed himself again, because his gaze found Yeosang’s, eyes dark and wanting, shoulders squared like a challenge. “One more question for you, Snow.”

The concealer, too, was put away. That done, Yeosang raised a brow, tilting his head curiously.

“Why bother with the makeup, when I’m just going to make you sweat it off anyway?” He grinned, and Yeosang thought it was cute-- all this bravado, as if he could trip Yeosang up just like that. Sure, Yeosang was shyer, quieter, and more averse to attention than the other escorts… but he was still an escort.

“Well,” Yeosang began, standing up from his seat and twisting to face Wooyoung in a fluid motion, “that’s actually _ exactly _ the point.” He took slow, deliberate steps towards the bed, watched Wooyoung sit up straighter, watched his hands curl into the sheets with anticipation.

_ Good. Watch me. Want me. _

For anyone else, Yeosang would have thought the opposite, but as he was learning as the night went on, Wooyoung was unlike anyone else. He was only himself.

Yeosang wasn’t sure it was a bad thing.

He stopped just in front of Wooyoung and smiled gently, reaching down with one hand to tilt his chin up. He felt Wooyoung swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the curl of his fingers, as he said, “After all, don’t you think it would be such a pretty picture? Seeing the way you ruined me painted on my face?" He lifted one knee and let it rest against the bed, still towering slightly over Wooyoung and reveling in it.

"That's a line," Wooyoung muttered, almost to himself. "I know it. You know it. But I still find it really hot? Why do I find it hot?"

Yeosang rolled his eyes, unable to keep back a small snort of disbelief. "You're _ supposed _ to find it hot. That's the whole point of all this."

“Well, yeah, but--”

“Can I kiss you? Are you okay with that?”

Wooyoung swallowed again, eyes flicking down to the pout of Yeosang’s mouth and lingering there. He nodded slowly. “Please,” he murmured, making a little abortive motion with one hand-- like he meant to pull Yeosang down himself, or maybe just grip his hips (or… something, Yeosang didn’t know) but thought better of it. Like he wasn’t sure he could touch.

Which was ludicrous. Of _ course _ he could touch.

Yeosang threaded his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, gently guiding him to tilt his head back. He went so easily, Yeosang thought, idly. Far easier than most. No resistance, no hesitance. Just pure want. It made something curl in Yeosang’s stomach, warm and pleased. He stayed like that for a moment, drawing out the wait until Wooyoung looked ready to tremble--

And then, and only then, did he lean forward and meld their lips together, using his free hand to guide one of Wooyoung’s to rest at the curve of his hip. Immediately, Wooyoung squeezed, soft and sweet. Almost reassuring.

He was a romantic, then. Yeosang could work with that.

Yeosang kissed him slow and chaste for a long minute. Nothing but the careful movement of their lips together, Wooyoung’s face cradled in his hands, Wooyoung’s featherlight grip on him like an anchor.

When he thought that was enough, he licked at the seam of Wooyoung’s mouth in question. Wooyoung granted him entry just as willingly as he’d done everything else, letting him deepen the kiss. Wooyoung tasted like champagne; he must have had a glass, earlier. It was golden and bubbly and so very addictive… Yeosang had already liked champagne as it was, but this was much better, really. A little softened at the edges from someone else having tasted it first, plush as the lips moving against his own and the little whimpers Wooyoung made for him to swallow up with it.

He pulled away. “So affected already?” Yeosang teased lightly. “All we did was kiss.”

“You’re a really good kisser,” Wooyoung said with a shrug. “In my defense. Can we do it again?”

Yeosang chuckled, planting a peck on Wooyoung’s right cheekbone. “Of course, but don’t you want to do other things too?”

“What could be better than kissing you? You’re gorgeous, you’re amazing at it, you’re…” Wooyoung shook his head. “I don’t even know if there are enough words for it.”

At that, Yeosang just rolled his eyes. "Sweet talk won't get you anywhere, you know. I'm already here, already willing," he said, dropping a fleeting kiss against the pout of Wooyoung's lips. "But you know what will?"

He slid his hands from Wooyoung's jaw, down the line of his neck, and gripped the open collar of his shirt. "If you took this off," he murmured. He batted his lashes, just for the added effect. "Please?"

Wooyoung swallowed, but his hands were steady on the buttons, his silky shirt falling more and more open. The light was dim and gold. It painted Wooyoung's smooth tanned skin a gorgeous color, like burnished copper.

Yeosang took it on himself to help Wooyoung the rest of the way, nudging the sleeves from his shoulders and arms. He grinned. "Finally. Glad to see you're back with the program," he teased, fingers dancing feather-light down to Wooyoung's navel.

His other hand balled up the shirt and tossed it aside, aiming for the seat by the vanity-- and fell _ very _short.

He and Wooyoung stared at it for a moment; as if it would magically lift off from the carpet and land on the chair where it belonged.

And then Wooyoung began to laugh. "Smooth," he said. "Really sexy." He seemed genuinely amused-- not bothered or awkward at all.

Yeosang ran a hand through his hair and looked off into the distance, pretending to be above all this. "Of_ course _ ," he sniffed. "Why wouldn't it be sexy? Sexy is my _ job _."

His exaggerated pouting only made Wooyoung laugh harder, and Yeosang was tempted to join in; Wooyoung's laugh was contagious, squeaky and high-pitched and so wildly unrestrained, it was a breath of fresh air compared to Yeosang's usual clientele.

Still, he did have a job to do. The laughter would have to wait.

"Now--" Yeosang gave another roll of his eyes and stood again, twisting around so his back was to Wooyoung."Are you going to keep laughing," he asked, as he tossed an almost careless glance over his shoulder, "or are you going to help me take this off?"


	2. Wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt wanna reread the mess that this was and I was Not letting my beta see it so read it and weep I guess.

It took another pointedly raised eyebrow before Wooyoung so much as  _ breathed _ , it looked like, and when he finally moved, it was almost as if he were dazed: slow and dreamy, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed.

As if he wasn’t quite literally paying for Yeosang’s time and touch, and therefore owed it.

“Why do you act like you’ve never done this before?” Yeosang murmured, mouth tilted up at the corner where he couldn’t quite bite back his bemusement. 

“Because,” Wooyoung mumbled back, breath fanning out warm against the nape of Yeosang’s neck, hands shaking just enough that he had to fumble for the tiny zipper, “I’ve never done this with  _ you _ .”

“And you said  _ I _ used lines,” Yeosang complained, smile growing. He kept his voice low, hands lifting up to take Wooyoung’s wrists and steady them. Wooyoung was so warm— though the room around them was cold from the air conditioner and disuse. Yeosang couldn’t help but let his touch linger. 

He felt Wooyoung shrug more than he could really see it from the angle; the fabric of the dress tugged and shifted with the movement. “I already told you you’re gorgeous,” he said, finally beginning to pull the zipper down. “And anyway, first times with anybody are scary, aren’t they?” He began to slide the velvet from Yeosang’s arms. “You never know what you’re gonna get, really.”

Yeosang slipped his arms from the straps, let the fabric pool on the floor like every other shadow. “So you’re always nervous? Even now?”

Wooyoung didn’t respond, so Yeosang turned to face him, doing his utmost best to avoid looking in the mirror as he did. He knew what he would see, of course: wine-colored lace stretching across his chest and hips, all swirling vines and blooming flowers and barely hidden skin.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Wooyoung gasped, like it had been punched out of his gut. Yeosang fought back a blush. It wouldn’t do. It simply wouldn’t do, to reveal such a weakness as uncertainty. Besides, he should be used to this; it was hardly new, wearing lingerie. He was an escort, after all, and with his delicate features… well, it wasn’t an uncommon request of his clients, or even the Madame. “I— well— usually, I’m better at hiding it, but…” He lifted a hand, and before he could even consider hesitating, Yeosang took it and guided it to his ribcage, focusing on that sensation instead of how out of place he felt, like this. Smooth, but slightly calloused fingers. A gentle, curl of them into the lace. The soft pluck of Wooyoung’s nails like he was testing just how fragile it actually was. “Clearly…”

Yeosang leaned in close and tilted his head, the next word practically falling right into Wooyoung’s parted lips. “Clearly?” When Yeosang licked at his own glossy mouth, his tongue  _ just _ ghosted across Wooyoung’s too.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung swore, instead of an actual answer. He hooked his arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, tugging him lightly (he was… so careful about everything, Yeosang noted, idly) down into a kiss, simultaneously moving back towards the bed again. “You’re too good at this.”

With a quiet chuckle, Yeosang ducked down to nip at the edge of Wooyoung’s jaw, hands fitting themselves around his waist to lift him up onto the mattress properly. “I should hope you think so. You  _ are _ paying for it.” He let his palms go lower, fingertips dipping just slightly beneath the band of Wooyoung’s slacks, thumbs brushing small circles over where he was already half-hard. “May I?”

Wooyoung didn’t respond— verbally, anyway. He did, however, pull Yeosang in for another kiss, this one filthy and open-mouthed, and cant his hips up, so that was probably a yes.

Even occupied as he was, it wasn’t hard for Yeosang to unfasten the little latch and unzip Wooyoung’s pants, pulling them off and discarding them somewhere off the edge of the bed. He crawled up to join Wooyung, slinging a leg over to straddle him, and then picked up right where he left off kissing the air from Wooyoung’s lungs, and the taste of alcohol from his teeth and tongue.

Wooyoung’s hands kept roaming— over the valleys of Yeosang’s hips, the notches of his spine, the expanse of his back. So, so warm. So… hesitant, still.

That… Yeosang really ought to do something about that. If nothing else, then because it was his job, though that was hardly the only reason.

He actually  _ wanted _ to; how strange, for him.

Yeosang pulled back, grinning at the whine Wooyoung let out at the separation. “You can do better than that,” he murmured, shuffling a little lower to trail kisses down the column of Wooyoung’s throat, down the little divot in the center of his chest. “Touch me properly, Wooyoung-ssi.” He shifted to the right, tugged gently at the nipple with his teeth and reveling in the choked groan it earned him.

“H-how do you mean?” Wooyoung panted. “Aren’t I— aren’t I already doing that?” As if to emphasize his point, he tugged slightly at the waistband of Yeosang’s panties with a finger, letting it go so it could snap against Yeosang’s skin.

“I  _ mean _ , Wooyoung-ssi—” said Yeosang, trailing lower still, lips pressing fleetingly against Wooyoung’s navel and then gone again. The tremble of the muscle there… something about that… was enough to make Yeosang linger a little. “That you should touch me—” and here, Yeosang let his fingers trace the shape of Wooyoung’s length through his underwear, followed by a gentle kiss to the fabric, just wet enough for Wooyoung to feel— “like you want to fuck me, not  _ just _ touch me.”

Wooyoung sucked in a gasp, hips jerking slightly as Yeosang continued to tease at him, coaxing him to full hardness. “Well, actually…”

“Did you not want to after all?” Yeosang began to pull back entirely. “That’s perfectly all right, of course. We only have to go as far as you want to.” It was… disappointing, somewhat, but it was all right. It wasn’t Yeosang’s shot to call, and anyway, it wasn’t like he was paid any less for his time, and he could still enjoy being in Wooyoung’s company.—

Whatever else he might have thought, it all came to a screeching halt when Wooyoung said, “I was hoping you’d fuck me instead.”

Yeosang felt like he should’ve expected this, with how needy Wooyoung had been, with how eager he had been to just take what he was given and behave otherwise. He still felt blindsided; more often than not, the men liked to dominate him, liked to watch him squirm beneath them. So for Wooyoung to once again upend all his expectations…

“Of course,” breathed Yeosang, surging upwards to capture Wooyoung’s lips in an almost bruising kiss that Wooyoung must have loved, if the tightening of his grip on Yeosang was any indication. This time when they separated, Yeosang didn’t let him pout for long. “I just need to get the lube and condom, okay, Wooyoung-ssi?”

Wooyoung reluctantly let him go. It didn’t take long for Yeosang to walk to the vanity, pulling open the right drawer and fishing out two different bottles. “Any allergies, Wooyoung-ssi?”

“Ah, no.”

“In that case…” Yeosang put one of the bottles back, then snatched up a foil-wrapped condom and nudged the drawer shut. He took his time rejoining Wooyoung— he seemed to enjoy being made to wait, and well, Yeosang was nothing if not a pleaser. He wasn’t even touching himself... What a sweet client.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Yeosang couldn’t help but smile (a little cruelly, if he was honest). “You look so pretty, Wooyoung-ssi,” he said lowly, licking his lips in a slow show that earned him a harsh swallow from Wooyoung, followed by a twitch of his hands. He must have wanted so badly to give himself some relief— but was forcing himself not to. “Do you want me to watch? Or do you want me to do it?”

“I want you here,” said Wooyoung, almost petulant. “Please.”

“Of course,” cooed Yeosang, taking a singular step closer, but no more. “But answer the question first, Wooyoung-ssi.”

“I…” Wooyoung’s gaze flickered away, suddenly shy. It was a shame, Yeosang thought, that it was too dark to really tell if he was blushing. He was fairly sure he saw a hint of it, though. “I want you to do it.”

Yeosang took another step nearer, almost like a reward, and brushed his fingers over Wooyoung’s calves now that they were within easy reach. “See, that wasn’t difficult, was it?”

“Snow…”

“So impatient,” Yeosang chuckled, with a click of his tongue, rocking on his heels like he meant to move backward. He didn’t, but it was so very tempting to see if the twitch of Wooyoung’s muscle beneath his hand was one that meant Wooyoung would have chased after him. “Take off your briefs then, won’t you?”

It was sometimes intoxicating, to be wanted so much, in its own way. Yeosang was picky about who it came from (though he never showed it), but Wooyoung definitely made into the list of people he was happy to be desired by.

And certainly, it was a heady feeling, just how obedient Wooyoung was being, how quickly he jumped to action at Yeosang’s words. Like Yeosang had the power here, not him.

No wonder Mingi liked the work as much as he did, if he got people like this all the time.

Yeosang stepped the rest of the way. “Well then, I guess I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” he said quietly, taking Wooyoung’s hand in his and pressing the bottle of lube into it. “Would you do the honors?” He held his fingers out.

With shaky fingers, Wooyoung flicked the cap open, and squeezed out just a tad more than was really necessary… but Yeosang chalked that up to nerves. “Thank you, Wooyoung-ssi. Why don’t you go ahead and help yourself a little, hm? Just don’t come just yet, all right?”

He nudged Wooyoung’s legs apart a little wider and settled himself between them, letting the lube warm in his hand. “Knees up, Wooyoung-ssi.”

“Are you—” Wooyoung grunted, hissing as he took himself in hand with what Yeosang presumed was still mostly cold lube.  _ Impatient _ . “Are you really going to call me ‘Wooyoung-ssi’ the whole time? Isn’t it a b-bit formal?”

Yeosang paused, watching the way that Wooyoung touched himself, how he liked it: for later reference, of course, but he couldn’t deny it made something hot stir in his stomach. “Ah, did you not realize it?” he mused, as he hooked one of Wooyoung’s legs over his shoulder to grant himself a better reach and angle. “You shiver every time I say it...” Yeosang pressed a kiss to the crook of Wooyoung’s knee, circling one finger around his rim and marveling at the full-blown tremor he got for his trouble. “ _ Wooyoung-ssi _ ,” he finished, smile sugary sweet and pressed right against Wooyoung’s skin as he pushed the first finger in.

Wooyoung gasped, eyes squeezing shut as his back arched slightly off the bed. His eyes fluttered open again. “A little— a little warning next time?” he muttered.

“Sorry, Wooyoung-ssi,” Yeosang said, smug grin clearly showing he was anything but. Wooyoung opened his mouth, but if he was going to argue, Yeosang never found out. Whatever he meant to say cut off into a soft mewl as Yeosang began to move his finger, a slow pump in and out to help Wooyoung adjust to the intrusion.

“Are you always so cruel?” Wooyoung asked, laughter laced in his voice.

“Only for you,” Yeosang shot back. “Are you complaining, Wooyoung-ssi?”

“No. Just curious.”

Yeosang laughed, rubbing faint circles into Wooyoung’s leg in a quiet form of comfort. It wasn’t much longer until Wooyoung was squirming, prompting Yeosang to add in another finger, his pace not changing in the slightest. Careful and measured. “You’re doing so good, Wooyoung-ssi,” Yeosang praised, beginning to curl his fingers as he searched. “Now… Stop touching yourself for me first? I don’t want you to come before we can get to the main attraction, after all.”

Wooyoung whined, but after a moment’s hesitation, he listened. Just in time, too, because Yeosang hooked his fingers  _ just so _ and Wooyoung jolted as if struck. “ _ There _ ! Fuck, right there, Snow.”

“Here?” Yeosang pressed against it again— and kept his fingers there.

“ _ A-ah.  _ Snow—”

He added a little more pressure. “Yes, Wooyoung-ssi?”    
  


“Move.  _ Please _ . Or something. I—” Wooyoung cut himself off with a choked sound when Yeosang took his length in his free hand and stroked it just once, flicking his thumb over the tip at the exact same time he began to move his fingers again.

“What was that?” he teased.

“Want you,” Wooyoung pleaded, scrabbling at sheets almost helplessly as Yeosang finally picked up his speed, pumping Wooyoung’s dick in time with his thrusts. “Snow, please.”

Yeosang hummed, pretending to think about it. “All right,” he said, unceremoniously pulling his fingers out and letting go of Wooyoung. He pointedly ignored Wooyoung’s whimper at the loss of contact, setting Wooyoung’s leg down and sliding off the bed to stand and pull off his panties, slow and taunting, almost. He left the bralette on.

Reclaiming his place on the bed, Yeosang tore open a foil packet. After inspecting the condom and finding it fine, he rolled it on to his cock, smiling almost benevolently down at Wooyoung. “How do you want to do this, Wooyoung-ssi?”

“Any. Don’t care. Just want you, Snow,” Wooyoung said, hooking one leg around Yeosang's back to urge him closer with a soft nudge, but Yeosang remained unmoving.

"That's not an answer, Wooyoung-ssi," tutted Yeosang, stroking at himself idly, careful to put on a show: soft, airy pants falling from his parted, kiss-swollen lips, head tilted to bare the skin of his throat, and knees spread so Wooyoung had an unobstructed view of the way he touched himself. “I can’t do anything without a proper answer, you know. How will I be sure you like it?” he simpered, not bothering to hide how worked up he was getting himself.

Wooyoung whined. “I— Snow—”

“Yes, sweet Wooyoung-ssi?” That earned him a slightly stronger tremor than before. Huh. Filing that reaction away for later, Yeosang fluttered his lashes. “Well?” he prompted.

“Want you behind me. Please."

"So polite!" Yeosang noted, voice saccharine with exaggerated delight. Mocking. "Always saying 'please'... how can I deny such a good boy?" Wooyoung made another soft noise, one of both embarrassment and desire. It made Yeosang’s smile curl a little higher as he tapped at Wooyoung’s hip. “Now, now, patience, Wooyoung-ssi. I need you to do a few more things for me first. Turn over, won’t you? All fours.”

Wooyoung practically scrambled to do as he was told.

Cute. 

“Lean forward on your elbows more, Wooyoung-ssi. I want your cute little ass high in the air for me. You can do that, right?”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Wooyoung hissed, as he did just that. 

Reaching to the side, Yeosang found the lube again, snapping the cap open. “Spread your cheeks for me, Wooyoung-ssi,” he ordered.

Again, Wooyoung did as he was told, nothing but a small mewl slipping from his mouth.

Yeosang grinned, admiring the pucker of Wooyoung’s hole, the shine of earlier’s lube, the tremor of the muscle so ready to take him in. “So good and obedient,” he praised, rubbing slow circles into Wooyoung’s lower back. “So I should reward you, right? Not keep you waiting?” He flipped the bottle in his hand. “We just need a little more lube, yeah? Wouldn’t want to hurt you, Wooyoung-ssi.”

That said, he squeezed out a generous dollop of lube right onto Wooyoung’s ass. Wooyoung yelped, jumping slightly at the cold, shooting a glare over his shoulder at Yeosang, who was busy laughing into his hand. “That was  _ not _ a reward,” he sulked.

“What? I thought you didn’t want to wait?” said Yeosang, eyebrow raised, mouth still twitching with amusement. With his fingers, he spread the lube some more, warming it between their bodies. “You seemed to have no trouble using it cold earlier.”

Wooyoung huffed.

Yeosang leaned forward, curved around him and admired for a second how well they fit. He dropped an apology kiss to the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, then brought his lips to the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. He tugged gently at the lobe with his teeth, smiling at the rattly breath he felt Wooyoung take below him. “You make such a pretty picture for me, Wooyoung-ssi,” he whispered, reaching down to adjust. “Ready?”

Wooyoung nodded, almost wildly. “Please, Snow.  _ Been _ ready.” He groaned, tried to shift backward at the first touch of Yeosang’s head to his rim, though Yeosang held him fast with a hand on his hip, tight enough that it would likely leave a mark. “ _ Snow _ .”

“Don’t move when I let go of you. I’ll do the work, okay, Wooyoung-ssi?”

Another nod. Yeosang released Wooyoung and grasped the headboard instead, caging Wooyoung against it, almost, and began to press in. Wooyoung nearly sobbed, biting down on his lip in what Yeosang assumed was some futile attempt to silence himself.

Yeosang shut his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, senses flooded with  _ hot _ and  _ tight _ and the snap of threads from Wooyoung’s too-tight grip on the sheets and the slick just starting to form their bodies and—

He started slow, but soon enough, his pace was brutal. Wooyoung keening beneath him, sweet and wanting, his own low voice a harmony to match, the slap of skin on skin their percussion. It was good, as it should be, but Yeosang, for once, actually allowed himself to fully enjoy it.

“You look so good, Wooyoung-ssi,” he crooned, voice shaky with effort, but steady enough to praise, as Wooyoung deserved. Yeosang wasn’t lying: Wooyoung looked gorgeous bent over for him, offered up by his own volition. His skin was smooth and honey-colored in the lamplight, glistening with sweat, his corded muscles twitching at every touch, jerking at every movement, and Yeosang almost mourned not being able to see his face, what it looked like overtaken by pleasure. “I should have— should have borrowed Silver’s mirror. If you could only see yourself right now… You’re such an image, so perfect, Wooyoung-ssi.”

He pressed a kiss to Wooyoung’s spine, then nipped at it with his teeth, cruel, before soothing over the sting with his tongue. He reached around, took hold of Wooyoung’s dick and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts, still murmuring compliments, just loud enough to be heard over Wooyoung’s steady stream of swears and Yeosang’s alias and pleas for more, for anything, for nothing in particular.

“Come for me, Wooyoung-ssi,” said Yeosang, when he felt the curl in his gut, the one that said he wouldn’t be long to follow.

And Wooyoung… he truly was so obedient. With one, two more pulls of Yeosang’s hand, he came all over the silken sheets.

  
  



End file.
